The Progressionists, and Angela. Conrad von Bolanden

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ

      "And does that scandalize you?" exclaimed the bald-headed agent merrily. "Mr. Shund is a jovial fellow, he enjoys life, and is rich. Mr. Shund will not permit religious rigorism to put restraints upon his enjoyments. His liberal and independent spirit scorns to lead a miserable existence under the rod of priestly bigotry. And, mark ye, gentlemen, this is just what recommends him to all who are not priest-ridden or leagued with the hirelings of Rome," concluded the electioneer, casting a sharp look upon the coppersmith.

      "But I am a Lutheran, Mr. Spitzkopf," protested the coppersmith.

      "There are hypocrites among the Lutherans who are even worse than the Romish Jesuits," retorted the man with the bald head. "Consider, gentlemen, that the leading men of our city have, in consideration of his abilities, concluded to place Mr. Shund in the position which he ought to occupy. Are you going, on to-morrow, to vote against the decision of the leading men? Are you actually going to make yourselves guilty of such an absurdity? You may, of course, if you wish, for every citizen is free to do as he pleases. But the men of influence are also at liberty to do as they please. I will explain my meaning more fully. You, gentlemen, are, all of you, mechanics--shoemakers, tailors, blacksmiths, carpenters, etc. From whom do you get your living? Do you get it from the handful of hypocrites and men of darkness? No; you get your living from the liberals, for they are the moneyed men, the men of power and authority. It is they who scatter money among the people. You obtain employment, you get bread and meat, from the liberals. And now to whom, do you think, will the liberals give employment? They will give it to such as hold their views, and not--mark my word--to such as are opposed to them. The man, therefore, that is prepared recklessly to ruin his business has only to vote against Mr. Shund."

      "That will do the business, that will fetch them," said Greifmann. "Just look how dumfounded the poor savages appear!"

      "It is brutal terrorism!" protested Seraphin indignantly.

      "But don't misunderstand me. Mr. Spitzkopf! I am neither a hypocritical devotee nor a Jesuit!" exclaimed the coppersmith deprecatingly. "If Shund is good enough for them," pointing to the leaders under the rotunda, "he is good enough for me."

      "For me, too!" exclaimed a tailor.

      "There isn't a worthier man than Shund," declared a shopkeeper.

      "And not a cleverer," said a carpenter.

      "And none more demoralized," lauded a joiner, unconscious of the import of his encomium.

      "That's so, and therefore I am satisfied with him," assured a shoemaker.

      "So am I--so am I," chorussed the others eagerly.

      "That is sensible, gentlemen," approved the bald man. "Just keep in harmony with liberalism and progress, and you will never be the worse for it, gentlemen. Above all, beware of reaction--do not fall back into the immoral morasses of the middle ages. Let us guard the light and liberty of our beautiful age. Vote for these men," and he produced a package of printed tickets, "and you will enjoy the delightful consciousness of having disposed of your vote in the interests of the common good."

      Spitzkopf distributed the tickets on which were the names of the councilmen elect. At the head of the list appeared in large characters the name of Mr. Hans Shund.

      "The curtain falls, the farce is ended," said Greifmann. "What you have here heard and seen has been repeated at every table where 'wild men' chanced to make their appearance. Everywhere the same arguments, the same grounds of conviction."

      Seraphin had become quite grave, and cast his eyes to the ground in silence.

      "By Jove, the rogue is going to try his hand on us!" said Carl, nudging the thoughtful young man. "The bald-headed fellow has spied us, and is getting ready to bag a couple of what he takes to be 'wild men.' Come, let us be off."

      They left the beer cellar and took the direction of the city.

      "Now let us descend a little lower, to what I might call the amphibia of society," said Greifmann. "We are going to visit a place where masons, sawyers, cobblers, laborers, and other small fry are in the habit of slaking their thirst. You will there find going on the same sort of electioneering, or, as you call it, the same sort of terrorism, only in a rougher style. There beer-jugs occasionally go flying about, and bloody heads and rough-and-tumble, fights may be witnessed."

      "I have no stomach for fisticuffs and whizzing beer-mugs," said Gerlach.

      "Never mind, come along. I have undertaken to initiate you into the mysteries of elections, and you are to get a correct idea of the life action of a cultivated state."

      They entered an obscure alley where a fetid, sultry atmosphere assailed them. Greifmann stopped before a lofty house, and pointed to a transparency on which a brimming beer-tankard was represented. A wild tumult was audible through the windows, through which the cry of "Shund!" rose at times like the swell of a great wave from the midst of corrupted waters. As they were passing the doorway a dense fog of tobacco smoke mingled with divers filthy odors assailed their nostrils. Seraphin, who was accustomed to inhaling the pure atmosphere of the country, showed an inclination to retreat, and had already half-way faced about when his companion seized and held him. "Courage, my friend! wade into the slough boldly," cried he into the struggling youth's ear. "Hereafter, when you will be riding through woodland and meadows, the recollection of this subterranean den will enable you to appreciate the pure atmosphere of the country twice as well. Look at those sodden faces and swollen heads. Those fellows are literally wallowing and seething in beer, and they feel as comfortable as ten thousand cannibals. It is really a joy to be among men who are natural."

      The millionaires, having with no little difficulty succeeded in finding seats, were accosted by a female waiter.

      "Do the gentlemen wish to have election beer?"

      "No," replied Gerlach.

      His abrupt tone in declining excited the surprise of the fellows who sat next to them. Several of them stared at the landholder.

      "So you don't want any election beer?" cried a fellow who was pretty well fired.

      "Why not? May be it isn't good enough for you?"

      "Oh, yes! oh, yes!" replied the banker hastily. "You see, Mr. Shund"--

      "That's good! You call me Shund," interrupted the fellow with a coarse laugh. "My name isn't Shund--my name is Koenig--yes, Koenig--with all due respect to you."

      "Well, Mr. Koenig--you see, Mr. Koenig, we decline drinking election beer because we are not entitled to it--we do not belong to this place."

      "Ah, yes--well, that's honest!" lauded Koenig. "Being that you are a couple of honest fellows, you must partake of some of the good things of our feast. I say, Kate," cried he to the female waiter, "bring these gentlemen some of the election sausages."

      Greifmann, perceiving that Seraphin was about putting in a protest, nudged him.

      "What feast are you celebrating to-day?" inquired the banker.

      "That I will explain to you. We are to have an election here to-morrow; these men on the ticket, you see, are to be elected." And he drew forth one of Spitzkopf's tickets. "Every one of us has received a ticket like this, and we are all going to vote according to the ticket--of course, you know, we don't do it for nothing. To-day and to-morrow, what we eat and drink is free of charge. And if Satan's СКАЧАТЬ